Jackpot Hunter's Hell

[meabs]

The gambling halls consumed me. I'm a man named Alex who ruined myself at the blackjack tables.
Constantly, the gambling halls called. The clinking of chips was my siren's call.
My wife, Anna, pleaded with me to stop gambling, but I was deaf to her pleas.
On that fateful night at the VIP room, I gambled everything: our future, our house - all on a single hand.
The dice rolled snake eyes and the house always wins.
Returning home with all lost, I found only a note: "I'm leaving. Your love for the casino has torn us apart."
Abandoned in an hollow home, I understood that hunting a royal flush cost me what was truly valuable.
Therapists identified a depressive condition, intensified by my yearning for the casino floor.
Now, each day is a battle not just with the phantom sounds of slot machines, but with the crushing sadness within. Can I possibly overcome this void dug by years of gambling?
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